


Dancing In The Dark

by rightonmybins



Series: The Real Househusbands of Baker Street [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, I always hear punch me in the face, John has hidden talents, Lapdance, M/M, Valentine's Day, You Sexy Thing, sherlock is a troll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonmybins/pseuds/rightonmybins
Summary: Somebody gets a lap dance."You can't start a fireYou can't start a fire without a sparkThis gun's for hireEven if we're just dancing in the dark."





	Dancing In The Dark

Evening, 221B Baker Street, February 13:

“Do you want to know what I really want for Valentine’s Day, Sherlock?”  
“Matching tattoos?”  
John closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, counted to 10 and then said, “Sherlock, we’ve been all over that tattoo issue and it’s not happening.”  
Sherlock sighed in response. “Oh very well. Tell me what it is you want and I will endeavour to deliver.”  
“Well…I’d like…a lap dance. From you.” John’s face flushed with a bit of excitement and shy embarrassment.  
Sherlock regarded him for a long moment of clinical scrutiny and frank confusion. Then he twigged.

“John, although you know that I love to dance and have acquired more than adequate skill in both traditional ballroom and ballet dance forms, I must confess that I know little about folk dancing. But if it will make you happy, then I am very willing to learn more.”  
“What did you just say?”  
“Lapp dance? Traditional folkdance of the nomadic Sami people? You are perhaps planning a holiday in Finland?” Sherlock asked.  
John simply put his face in his hands and made an unintelligible noise.  
“Oh, never mind, Sherlock…”  
“Please enlighten me, John, because nothing offends me and I prefer you to be clear about your wants and desires, no matter how peculiar, absurd or generally weird they may be.”  
“LAP dance,” John said. “Not LAPLAND dance! Oh God, why do I bother sometimes.”  
“I assure you it’s no trouble – if you want some sort of dance, then a dance you shall have. Tell me what it is.” Sherlock sat up in his chair and fastened his eyes on him like a bright-eyed inquisitive squirrel.

“Well, er…you, uh…it’s a dance – sort of – that is, an erotic dance or…um, striptease performed by, er… sitting on the lap of…well...” John subsided into silence and blushes.  
“Oh!” Sherlock said. “Like twerking. Only I sit on you while I do it.”  
“Er, well….that’s the general idea, yes. But right now it’s rather lost its appeal, so I think I’ll just go out and empty the kitchen bin and…”  
Sherlock caught him by the arm.

“No, wait! I’d like to try, if you don’t mind it being a learning experience for me. Perhaps you had best sit in my chair, it’s not as likely to collapse under our weight.” Sherlock tugged John up from the armchair, and positioned him in his own leather chair.  
“Now – do I need any instruments, tools, props? I’m assuming no special clothing is required….there’s plenty of light for you to get a good view…. All right, let’s begin!”  
John groaned. “Sherlock, did you miss the part where I said ‘erotic’?”  
Sherlock looked around him, seeing nothing more or less erotic than the sitting room in its normal disarray with all of the lights on, the skull grinning at them from the mantel, and both of them fully clothed.  
“Should I turn the skull to face the wall?”  
“Never mind, Sherlock, just – please get on with it.” 

Sherlock gingerly sat down on John’s lap facing away from him. “Not too heavy, am I?”  
“No, you're light as a feather. You can begin any time now…” John sighed and rolled his eyes at Sherlock's back.  
Then Sherlock slowly, gradually began to rock from side to side on John’s lap, humming faintly to some internal tune. John found the sensations quite pleasurable, and he closed his eyes and began to enjoy himself. This was not nearly as unsexy as he’d feared.  
Sherlock began moving his body with a more circular motion and John let out an involuntary moan, which made Sherlock add a bit of head bobbing to his increasingly energetic arm movements. John’s breath came faster and faster as he joined in the rhythmic shifting to and fro.

And then suddenly John felt as though he was being twerked on by a tumble dryer.  
He opened his eyes to find Sherlock gyrating on him in a flamboyant display of…what the hell?  
“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!”  
“The Macarena.”

“Sherlock, LET ME UP!” John pushed and shoved at him until Sherlock leaned/half-fell off his lap onto the floor.  
“John, I did say this was going to be a learning experience, but that’s no reason to… Well, it WAS a dance!” he protested.  
John stepped over Sherlock, hauled him up by the back of his collar and flung him into the chair. He wore the menacing half smile of threatening amusement that Sherlock knew so well.  
“You just sit right there, posh boy, and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.” 

The only illumination came from the streetlights outside, filtering through the net curtains. John’s half-naked body was dappled with shadows and his Y-fronts gleamed whitely in the dusk. He stepped up onto the chair seat and planted his feet on either side of Sherlock's thighs, rocking from one foot to the other and wearing a provocative expression.  
“See anything you like?” John growled while swaying inches away from Sherlock's face.  
Sherlock observed carefully, occasionally lifting an eyebrow or a corner of his lush mouth. When he moved his hand toward John’s leg, John knocked it aside. “Ah–ah, no touching.” Sherlock swallowed audibly.  
In the dark there were only the sounds of creaking leather and their quickening breath. 

John flexed his knees and knelt astride Sherlock's lap, moving forward and back, teasing Sherlock with the closeness and the heat of his body.  
Sherlock remained watchful, apparently struggling with some deep inner turmoil. Soon, something was going to happen, it had to. The sitting room air felt full of an invisible electric charge.  
“John, I…”  
“Tell me what you want.”  
“I…I think I'd like it even better if you…”  
“If I what?” John purred, fixing Sherlock with his steel-blue gaze.  
“If you…had music...” Sherlock whispered. “My favorite is…’You Sexy Thing’… by a group I believe is called... Hot Chocolate?” After which he could not hold it in any longer, and a smile cracked his face. His body heaved with barely suppressed laughter.  
“GODDAMMIT SHERLOCK!” 

“Your…FACE!” Sherlock managed to gasp out before breaking into great bellows. His body was seized with physical spasms of hilarity that bounced John about on his thighs, while John simply sat there bouncing and burning with fury.  
“YOU…COCK! You trolled me, you utter fucking wanker!” John shouted. Sherlock only laughed harder and tried to embrace him, but John was having none of that and slapped him away. “I should just punch you straight in the face.”  
“Oh, John,” said Sherlock weakly, gradually subsiding into giggles. “I was sure you’d catch on more quickly, since I was being so absurdly clueless. But you seemed to be enjoying it so much, and truthfully…well, you certainly have hidden talents that I never dreamed of.” He smiled and winked knowingly.  
But John was hardly mollified. “Oh, you think so? Well cheers, mate, I did a bloody brilliant job for you.” He looked down at Sherlock's lap. “Quite obviously.”  
“John, please. I just let the joke go too far, and… all right, that was quite unkind of me. And yes – you did a brilliant job. Very, very sexy.”  
“Yeah, all right, very sexy, next time with disco music. Got it.”  
“Now don’t be angry. Let’s kiss and make up.” Sherlock adopted his little-lost-puppy expression which generally worked on John when nothing else did. 

So John did the only thing he could do, given that he was still sitting astride Sherlock's lap and only partially wearing pants and was still flushed with excitement from his performance. He leaned forward until he was millimeters from Sherlock's face, and they felt their breath mingle. Their eyes fixed upon each other with simmering desire and -  
And then John bit him squarely on the nose. 

“OW!” Sherlock shouted, grabbing his face. “You bit me!”  
John’s eyes glittered in the dim light.  
“And THAT, you sexy posh prat, is only for starters.”

**Author's Note:**

> To twig: to figure something out, to have a sudden idea  
> Y-fronts: men’s cotton briefs; Americans apparently call them “tighty-whities”  
> Dancing in the Dark: music and lyrics by Bruce Springsteen. All copyrights belong to him; I claim no ownership and no violation is intended.


End file.
